


One Bad Idea After Another

by tisfan



Series: Imagine Tony and Bucky 2016/2017 [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Bad Flirting, M/M, Or Three, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has a Bad Idea, Villains, or two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Imagine Tony & Bucky Anonymous requests: imagine tony being unpopular with superheroes – hello, former weapons mogul and a jerk in general – but he is somehow considered very attractive by supervillains, cause his snark and brains and just good looks. so tony's like what the hell, i might as well flirt with dr doom/magneto/loki while I beat their asses, and he does. what tony fails to notice is that his team is actually really attached to him, and his flirtings with the villains make a certain one-armed supersoldier really mad and sad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Now translated into Chinese](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13438164) by [TonyonmyBed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonyonmybed)

Six months is what Tony had promised Ross; six months of pretending to be a team again, so that the people of the world could see, and go back to trusting, maybe. And then Tony was fucking out of here. He was retiring, he was locking his house to every so-called Avenger on the planet and he was going to live out his life in his workshop with things that he could program and shape and build and not get stabbed in the back by. (He totally wasn’t counting Ultron here, because his programming had been mostly flawless; the mind stone had fucked that up but good.) 

Which was five months and twenty-nine days longer than he wanted to work as a team with the pack of liars, betrayers, hot-heads, murderers and _idiots_. But he’d done distasteful things before. He kept a paper-chain in the penthouse, and each day, he tore off a link and threw it away. 

But that wasn’t now, and it wasn’t today, and… 

“Hey, Erik,” Tony chirped, after Magneto had pinned him to the building. Fighting someone who could control metal as someone wearing a metal suit was pretty stupid, admittedly. The only more stupid thing was being an X-person who had metal running all through their bones. “Good to see you again, gorgeous. Really, you have a wonderful skin care regime, because I swear, you don’t look a day over fifty.” 

Running his mouth was really all he could do; Magneto could crush him inside his tin can, although for whatever reason, he often _didn’t_. Tony wasn’t sure why, exactly. Magneto had never made his feelings unclear about how much less worthy humans were. Humans like Tony, who weren’t experiments or mutants or aliens, but just simple ingenuity were on Erik’s particular dislike list. Especially, as he said, _homo sapiens and their guns._  

Tony, as a leading weapons developer and manufacturer for most of his entire adult life, was especially despised. 

So, being a sticky-note smart ass was Tony’s only option, because, of course, shutting up and minding his own business would have been the wise thing to do, and Tony was never wise. Or capable of shutting up. 

“Oh, nice swing, Babe Ruth,” Tony quipped as Magneto used a semi-trailer to backhand Hulk about half a mile away. “You forgot to point though, before you hit him. Really, Erik, you’ve been doing the super villain thing for a long time, you’re losing your edge with the witty repartee.” 

“Tony, shut up,” Steve said in his earbud, and that was just too much, because under no circumstances -- and it was even in the contract he’d had his lawyers draw up before he agreed to Ross’s demands, because, see, Steve, some of us are fucking capable of compromise -- was Steve allowed to tell him what to do. Ever. Ever again. 

“You know, what, Erik?” Tony said, glancing over again. Magneto was playing pile the car on Steve, which really, Tony kinda approved of. “I’m being really sincere this time. How do you look so good? I mean, you and Charles have been bashing it out for a while now and I never even see you with a black eye. I have a black eye almost constantly.” 

Magneto turned his attention to Tony, having cleared the field of Avengers for the time being. “Do you ever shut up?” 

“When someone’s dick is in my mouth, sure,” Tony said, winking. “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” 

Magneto didn’t even turn, just thrust an arm out behind him and the Winter Soldier went flying backward, dragged by his adamantium prosthetic. “Really?” Erik looked… intrigued, rather than disgusted. Not really the plan, but okay, Tony could roll with this. “I thought you preferred women.” 

“I prefer sex,” Tony said, easily enough. “Dick, pussy, whatever.” That was true and he was surprised that Erik didn’t know it. He thought everyone knew about his sex tapes, and Ty Stone had not been exactly shy about talking out of class. 

Erik held up one hand and star-fished his fingers. Tony’s armor responded, brutally stretching him out, spread eagle. _Hnnnnng_ , okay, well, that was… something else entirely. Magneto flew over (how did that even work? Did the guy wear tap-shoes or something?) and hovered about six inches away. He had brilliant blue eyes with a ring of steel gray around the edge, an oval face, and a great chin. His lips were a little thin for a really good kiss, but Tony’d made do before. 

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, nodding slowly, giving his best inviting look. “You know you want to try it out, see if I’m as good as my rep.” 

Erik slid his hand into Tony’s hair, the back of the helm retracting neatly into the collar and he bent forward. 

Which was exactly when Spidey grabbed Magneto’s helmet with a wad of spider-goop and Wanda floated up behind Erik, undetected, to red-mist whammy Erik’s attractive ass into oblivion. 

Tony barely managed to get the repulsors working again to not smash into the ground some ten stories below when Magneto’s power suddenly released him. 

Ha! One for the home team. 

“So, how ‘bout next time, _Captain_ ,” Tony snarked, “you just let me do what I do best and leave me the _hell_ alone?” 

Barnes was there, having dropped out of his creepy Winter Soldier routine and was lacing Magneto’s arms behind his back with plastic cable while Erik was there and totally blissed out on whatever brain-shaping delusions Wanda was feeding him. Jesus, that was fucking scary. Both of them. Wanda doing her weirding-way finger gymnastics as Erik’s eyes sparkled ruby red, and Barnes staring at Tony with… disappointment? Anger? Tony had no idea, didn’t want to know, and the less he could manage to speak with Barnes, the better, as far as Tony was concerned, because Steve got all weirded out when they even looked at each other for too long and the tension was murder. 

“And what would that be, exactly?” Steve asked. “Being a world-class slu --” And Steve’s voice cut off suddenly when Barnes threw a rock at him. Accurately. From over half a block away. Nice aim. 

“Shut up, Stevie,” Barnes’s voice came over the coms, rough and low and somehow soothing. “Tony just saved all our collective asses by bein’ a fuckin’ good distraction.” 

There was something vaguely amusing about Barnes infantilizing the captain that way. There was nothing quite like having your childhood friend around to remember that you weren’t always a bad-ass. Tony spared Barnes a quick grin and was shocked when Barnes smiled back. Tony’d never seen that smile before, not outside of pictures, and certainly never directed at _him_. It was wide, genuine, showed quite a lot of white, perfect teeth, and competed with the sun for brilliance. Tony staggered back a step, not sure what that feeling was in his stomach, but it was… something. 

“Huh,” Tony said. “Nice to be appreciated.” 

* * *

 

Madam Hydra was unfairly hot, Tony thought. And enormously tall. Even in the armor, Tony was about nose-level with her impressive rack. 

Also, she carried a whip as her weapon of choice. Which, while painful, was also kinda hot. 

Green hair was a nice touch, as well as the green lipstick that made her mouth look both luscious and poisonous at the same time. 

Despite the fact that her whip was wrapped around Tony’s throat -- _seriously, what was it with my neck that people find it a convenient hand-hold? Come on, really, pull my hair sometimes, too, that’s okay_ \-- she was not hurting him. In fact; she rubbed up against the armor as if it was turning her on. Maybe it was; she was, after all, straddling him, her skirt hiked way up around her powerful thighs. 

“You should reconsider your stance, Mr. Stark,” Madam Hydra purred, her long fingers running down the side of his face. “We would be much more appreciative of your _unique skill set_ as we rebuild Hydra.” 

Suddenly Barnes’s metal hand was wrapped around Madam Hydra’s throat and he lifted her bodily up, kicking and gasping weakly. Which was all good and well, except her whip was still around Tony’s neck, so this dragged him up -- he really, really hated it when the suit got powered down in the middle of combat -- by the neck. 

“Come on, Red October,” Tony managed to gasp. “I’m all one for a little breath play, but this is getting ridiculous.” 

Barnes stomped down on the whip, yanking it from Madam Hydra’s grip, which was nice as far as the whole breathing thing went, but was a little less pleasant in that Tony was now on his knees, stuck at Barnes’s feet. 

Falcon and Hawkeye rushed over to relieve the Winter Soldier of another Hydra baddie, with magnetic handcuffs and a few snarky remarks, pushing her off toward the armored prison car. 

Leaving Tony still crawling on the ground in front of the Winter Soldier, which just seemed like eight kinds of bad plan to Tony. But of course, no one else ever worried about how Tony was dealing with his so-called teammates. That hadn’t been part of the agreement at all. 

Barnes moved his foot and knelt down, putting himself on eye level. “Are you okay?” he asked, unwinding the whip from around Tony’s throat and tipping back Tony’s chin with oddly gentle fingers to peer in Tony’s eyes. “You got a little singed, there.” 

“The choking wasn’t so bad,” Tony said, trying to stagger to his feet and the armor was just heavy enough that he let Barnes help him. “The electric current came as a bit of a _shock_ , though.” 

Barnes laughed, low, and shook his head, his rich brown hair scattering around his face. “Always with the bad jokes,” he said. “You always play off gettin’ hurt like it’s nothin’?” 

Tony got his fingers inside the collar of his armor and punched the emergency release, letting it fall around him. Crap; he’d forgotten that he’d been sleeping when the call came and he was, in fact, mostly naked under the suit. He’d grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer before Friday had closed around him in her comforting embrace, otherwise he’d be stark naked. Ha ha. 

“Jesus, Tony,” Barnes said, and for just a moment, Tony thought there was disgust there, for being undressed in public, for being an old man, but instead, Tony caught Barnes’s eyes, flickering from bruise to bruise, the needle-marks from the suit’s pharmaceutical package that let him take a licking and keep on ticking not even faded. “Doesn’t anyone ever take care of you?” 

“Friday does,” Tony said, flatly, trying to pull away. 

“Come on, doll,” Barnes said. “Let’s get you checked out before you head back home, yeah?” And Barnes’s arm was locked loose around Tony’s bicep, pulling him gently toward the medical van. Which, normally, Tony wouldn’t have accepted -- he hated medical care with an unholy passion -- but Barnes didn’t leave his side the entire time, talking and telling stories and getting Tony involved in an analysis of Star Wars physics long enough for the medics to wrap up his sprained wrist, stitch closed a laceration in his calf, and plaster an icepack over his eye. 

Barnes wrapped Tony up in a blanket and rode with him in the car back to the Tower. And God, Tony was tired. Maybe Barnes was lulling him into some sort of false sense of security, or something, but at the present moment, Tony wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just sigh softly and let Barnes kill him, if he was so inclined. It might hurt less. 

Instead, Barnes walked him into the penthouse, helped him lay down on the bed, and as Tony was drifting away into sleep, he thought -- probably he was dreaming already -- that Barnes kissed him on the forehead. “Get some sleep, Tony. I’ll stand guard.” 

* * *

 

The club had been a good idea, Tony thought. He leaned against the rail at the VIP lounge and watched the lights flare, listened the pulse and pound of the music, the taste of top-shelf on his tongue. There were some pretty people in the lounge with him, no one whose name he knew, or cared to know, and surely someone would be interested in a little nudge and whisper later in the night. He needed that, needed it so bad. The alcohol was good, but some no-strings sex was just what the doctor ordered. 

Particularly as far away from his fucking teammates as he could get. 

Being alone in a crowd while in the club was at least familiar and safe. No one in the club scene had ever wanted anything from him that he couldn’t provide; a quick lay, a bit of cash, a good time, a smooth drink. 

His gaze traced the crowd, a seething mass of bodies, pressed together obscenely, slick with sweat. There was no room to really dance, just sort of find a partner, whatever gender, and grind up against them. Except then the floor cleared a little, to make way. 

Hot moves comin’ through, the general mood seemed to say. 

Tony’s eyes widened fractionally. He’d heard that James Barnes could dance -- Natasha liked to talk about their days at the Red Room together if you got a few glasses of red wine into hre -- but Tony had thought it was the ballet, or maybe the Lindy or something like that. But apparently Barnes knew club moves and music-video type dancing, too. Or someone had been taking pole-dancing classes, what did Tony know? It’s not like his teammates talked to him anymore. 

Tony threw back his drink and the girl at his side laughed and poured him another. He almost wanted to leave, before he started thinking of Barnes as a human being and not just… except he couldn’t look away. There was something sweet and sinister about the way the man danced, calling partners to him with a quick twitch of his fingers, spinning them into his dance, then weaving them right back out. He wasn’t there with anyone, he was there as a predator, chasing the prey that lurked in the clubs, drawing them in, finding them lacking. 

No one could match him, not even for a moment, and Tony found himself more, and more, drawn to the heated sensuality of the man, the way his hips moved, the way his legs seemed to go on forever, encased in black leather pants, the way his shirt was rucked up, baring a strip of his belly and back. 

Tony let his jacket fall to the floor and headed out to the dance floor. He tapped his watch, and Friday muttered an unheard complaint in his ear, something something drinking, something something side effects, but Tony wasn’t listening. He wasn’t a bad dancer himself, even if he was getting older, and he needed the jolt of his mix-drugs cocktail for some of his fancier moves, especially given that he was still a little sore from that last fight. 

If he was going to make some sort of claim, some sort of impression, he needed ever advantage he could get.

At first, Barnes wasn’t even looking, didn’t even notice who’d moved into his dance space, and then, with that quick flash of lighting-up-the-room smile, Barnes had taken Tony into his arms and they moved as one. It was slick and heated and easy and the best damn thing that had happened to Tony in a long time. It was bliss. 

At least that was what he thought, right up until Barnes nudged him back into the VIP lounge and started kissing him on the sofa. “Been watchin’ you all night,” Barnes said, his voice a low, husky growl that went straight from Tony’s ears to his groin in a bolt of wanting. Despite all the booze and the drugs and the girls and the men, there was something about that moment that was utterly sacred. Tony touched Barnes’s face with a gentle hand, wondering and confused and wanting and terrified all at the same time. 

Barnes’s cold metal hand slid under Tony’s shirt, touching and tugging at the fabric. 

And then he wasn’t there at all. 

Thor had taken a great double-handful of Barnes’s hair and dragged him backward, leaving a cold hollow where the super soldier’s warm body had been only moments before. 

“What the hell?” 

Thor shook Barnes like he was a misbehaving kitten and the man dangling from Thor’s godly grip shimmered, shuddered, and suddenly -- 

“Oh _my fucking Christ_ ,” Tony said, scrambling backward away from Loki. 

“Brother,” Loki said, practically purring, “I don’t know what you’re all upset about. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was giving him exactly what he _wanted_.” 

“In such a manner that would badly damage the trust we have worked hard to restore,” Thor said, his voice booming. 

“Trust?” Loki scoffed and twisted, which caused Thor to curse and drop the trickster god to the floor, where Loki gazed at his brother with that signature look of mixed longing and hatred. “There’s no trust. Your precious midgardians have wounded and betrayed each other to such an extent that you have almost lost the one who started it all. I only wished to give him ease.” 

Tony got up, recovered his coat and straightened his tie with some semblance of recovered dignity. “Next time you want a piece of midgardian ass, Loki,” Tony said, snarling, “come to me as yourself and we’ll talk. But don’t pretend to be something you’re not.” 

“You would know, wouldn’t you, Iron Man,” Loki said, his voice light and mocking, “what it is to pretend to be something you’re not. But I know the truth; I was just a mirror for what you truly desire.” 

Tony didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see Loki’s mockery. He didn’t want to see Thor’s sympathy. 

And he sure as hell didn’t want to be tempted by what Loki was promising. 

* * *

 

This was getting old. It was getting old, it was getting boring and it was getting fucking predictable. 

Tony didn’t bother to struggle in Doom’s grip; he knew exactly where this was going, and he was so bored with it, he just wanted it over with. 

“Yeah, yeah, skip to the end,” Tony said. “Captain America kills you, your death kills me, everyone else lives happily ever after, the end.” 

Doom’s hand didn’t move; he kept his fingertips pressed to Tony’s chest. The suit was slagged, only Doom’s power kept it from broiling Tony alive. If Doom died, he’d stop holding the heat at bay and there was nothing Tony could do. 

But Steve had Doom at a disadvantage. Doom’s armor was broken, had been in the long struggle, and the back of his neck was exposed. Steve was right behind him, with the shield. One move, Doom’s spinal column would snap and then Tony would die in the miniature volcano that his suit had become. 

Well, that’s what happened when you fucked around with the fabric of space-time. You got really weird goddamn results. 

“Remove yourself from Doom’s presence,” Doom demanded, not looking at Steve. “Or this man will die.” 

“That’s not much of a threat, Man in the Iron Mask,” Tony said, looking past Victor Von Doom’s shoulder at Steve. “What’s the life of one man, one soldier? Hmm?” 

Steve winced at that, hesitating. 

“Just do it, Captain,” Tony said. God he was tired. Exhausted. “Finish it. We all know everything’ll go smoother, if it’s just you at the helm. I’ll get a tragic, heroic ending. S’what I always wanted, you know that.” 

“Tony --” 

Tony stopped listening. Steve had lost his right to call Tony by his name; they weren’t friends. They’d proven that. “Just get on with it, Lone Ranger,” he said to Doom. “Let me go.” 

“That isn’t what Doom wants.” And Doom stood up, one hand around Tony’s shoulders and the other scooping him up so he was in a goddamn bridal carry, and that was just fucking fantastic. Doom ignored Steve, utterly and completely, walking away as if Steve wasn’t even there at all. The slits of Doom’s mask showed brilliant brown eyes, glittering with malice and… desire? Really? Good lord, what was it with the fucking bad guys recently that they were all getting these stupid little crushes? 

“So, what’s the plan?” Tony couldn’t move, his half-melted armor still held him in place. “I mean, you do have a plan, don’t you, Iron Maiden?” 

“Doom pities you, Iron Man,” Doom said, hollow and booming. “So betrayed. So tragic. So unappreciated. Doom wishes to show you that there are other options.” 

“You think my tragic backstory is earning me villain points?” Tony asked. “Is that what all this is about? All the badguys in the world are trying to _recruit me_?” 

“You would be a worthy ally,” Doom intoned. “And if not, life in Latveria can be your retirement.” 

“That was almost romantic,” Tony said. “Good try, I appreciate it. Can I get down now, because really, I’m just not feeling it, here.” 

“You do not want down,” Doom said, carrying Tony onto his fucking Doomship, or whatever the hell he was calling it these days. 

“You’re telling me what I want, now?” Tony rolled his eyes, really that was a bit much. Everyone acted like they knew what Tony wanted. 

“Everyone wants the same thing,” Doom said, reasonably. “Even Doom. A home, appreciation. Family. To rule the world.” 

Tony would have shrugged, but that just wasn’t possible. “Too much like work. I think you’ll find I’m a really high maintenance boyfriend. You’d be better off picking someone who’ll be a better help partner for you.” 

The gangplank closed behind them and Doom gestured again, letting his powers flow through Tony like riverwater -- dirty, choking, ugly, and fucking cold. On the plus side, also put the fire out in the suit. Which was still busted all to hell and back, but at least Tony wasn’t in danger any longer from a really radical tan. 

Doom helped him with the armor, and Tony found himself trailing along behind like a lost puppy while Victor did his evil-seduction-plot which was nicer than Tony had expected. There was food -- and carefully selected at that. Someone had been studying his preferences -- and new clothes (nice, a Desmond Merrion, and that was a little creepy, because those were very exacting measurements and it fit perfectly. Damn!) -- and a room aboard the Doomship. A lot nicer than Tony had been expecting. 

Sure, okay. 

Doom removed his own armor, the flowing green cloak folded neatly over a chair. He peeled out of the metal plates and greaves, leaving them behind. Victor strode behind the dressing screen in Tony’s doomroom and came out wearing his own suit, just as nice, as tailored, as the one he’d had ready for Tony. With a quick flick of his hand, Doom took his mask off and tossed it aside. 

Wow. Okay. That… that Tony was not expecting. 

“Well, rumor isn’t true, I guess,” Tony said, not quite able to look away. Victor Von Doom was gorgeous. Breath-takingly beautiful, with a wave of silver hair that spilled into his face and deep brown eyes that watched everything Tony did from under a frame of dark lashes. A tiny scar, just under his eye, didn’t mar Doom’s appearance at all, just sort of added to the rugged appeal. 

Victor smiled, a quick, sly tip of his lips. “You, of all people, should know better,” he said. “We’re not what we seem to be, behind our masks.” He snagged a cherry tomato off the tray of food that had been presented for Tony’s supper. 

“Yeah, still think I gotta pass,” Tony said. He brushed by Doom toward the exit of the Doomship -- he didn’t really have a plan, but he always worked best when he improvised. 

Doom reached out, snagged his wrist in a grip that wasn’t rough, just enough to say _Wait, stop._  

“Give Doom -- give me, a chance,” Doom said, and he drew Tony in, kissed the back of Tony’s neck, which sent shivers up Tony’s spine and urged a gasp from his lips. 

Oh, what the hell, why not? Tony wasn’t going to get what he wanted, he might as well take the next best thing. He turned, let the movement draw them closer. Victor’s mouth came down on his, warm and sweet and gentle, nothing like the sort of kiss Tony was expecting. 

And, unfortunately, quite honestly, _nothing_ like what he wanted, either. 

Tony wanted a lover who would pull his hair and bite his neck. A lover who wouldn’t give, gentle and go softly into that goodnight. He wanted a demanding, ravenous, hungry sort, who’d never let Tony rest, who’d wrench screams from his throat as he rode through Tony’s pleasure, who’d want and need and _take…_  

 _I was just a mirror for what you truly desire…_  

 _Yeah, okay, subconscious, I get it already._ Tony sighed, inward. Maybe that was why all the villains were trying to pick him up; Tony was giving off “I want a bad boy” vibes like nobody’s business. 

The ship rocked, suddenly. A strident blast of alarm bells sounded, the lights flashed red. 

“Always, with the vexations!” Doom broke off the kiss and stormed off to wherever the pilot’s chair was, presumably to make mincemeat out of whoever was firing at them. 

“Christ,” a familiar voice said, startling Tony so badly that he knocked the salad plate right off the table. “What is it with you?” Barnes pushed open the closet door and stepped into the room. “Everyone just wants to take a bite out of you, don’t they?” 

“Is this a rescue?” Tony rolled his eyes. “Because I’m not sure I need to be rescued right now.” 

“Stop bein’ contrary,” Barnes said, “an’ let’s get the fuck off this boat before Falcon an’ Thor bring it down.” 

“Why would they do that?” Tony asked. “Doom was leaving.” 

“Because you’re part of the fuckin’ team,” Barnes said. “We ain’t leavin’ you behind, and we ain’t lettin’ you get kidnapped by the worst fuckin’ guy in the world, doll, even if he does seem more like the wine an’ dine type.” 

“It’s not doing anything for me,” Tony admitted, looking around the lushly appointed room. “Much as I hate to admit it, so if you’re rescuing, go right ahead, don’t let me stop you.” 

Barnes shoved a chute-pack at Tony, then led him through a maze of corridors to an outer hull wall. “Come on, doll,” he said, wrapping one arm around Tony’s waist. “I’mma blow this wall out, then we jump.” 

“Together?” 

“There’s only one chute, so, yeah,” Barnes said. He drew a hand-cannon from his holster and pointed it at the wall. 

And because it was Tony, he couldn’t stop his smart mouth from running, even at the very worst opportunities. “What, no kiss for luck?” 

Barnes whirled, looking straight into Tony’s eyes; shock, want, desire, confusion warred in Barnes’s steel-gray eyes. “‘Bout fuckin’ time,” he said, grabbed Tony’s jaw and kissed him. 

And this? 

This was a kiss. No sweet, tentative exploration or gentle nudges, but a soul-searing, leave ashes behind experience. Barnes ravaged Tony’s mouth, took possession, left no survivors. Everything, everyone else was burned in his wake. His lips were fast, rough, uncompromising and Tony felt the kiss all the way down to his toes. It consumed him, destroyed him, made him want more, and made him want _nothing else, ever._ It was hot, slick tongue and brilliant, talented lips and the scrape of teeth just on the edge of pain, and yet, it was still more than that. A crescendo wave of feelings and needs and desires, of wants and necessity. It was thirst that no water would slake, hunger that no food would ease. It was _everything_. 

Barnes tore himself away from the kiss, reluctance in every muscle in his body, written on every line in his face. 

“Wow,” Tony said. “What was _that_?” 

“A damn fine start,” Barnes said. He turned, shot the wall, then kicked it open. He wrapped his arms tight around Tony. “Jump, already, doll, time’s wastin’.” 

Tony nodded, tucked his face against Barnes’s throat, and leapt. 

* * *

 

There were a lot of things that Tony had expected, in his life. And a number of things that had taken him completely by surprise. 

Being peeled out of a twenty-thousand dollar suit and fucked sideways into the ground by a very relieved and eager James Barnes had never been on the list at all, but Tony would take it. 

“So, what is this?” Tony asked, as they were curled up under the parachute silk. “Another one of my very bad ideas?” 

James nuzzled at Tony’s throat, softer now that the edge was off, but still eager, still wanting. Tony didn’t want to admit just how attractive he found that. 

“It’s redemption,” James said, finally. “Darkness in me calls to th’ darkness in you. Maybe,” he linked their fingers together, “maybe we c’n find the light together.” 

What had Steve said, that one time? _If we lose, we’ll lose together._  

And maybe that had been the wrong idea, all along. Maybe what they needed to do was win. Together. 

“Together?” Tony squeezed James’s hand, tipped his head back again to accept James’s eager kiss.

“Always.” 

Always. Always sounded nice. Tony thought he could get with that particular idea. And then he couldn’t think of anything else at all, except what James’s hands were doing. And his mouth. And other…

  
_Together. Always._

**Author's Note:**

> Not only was this fic inspired by the prompt, but I admit to taking the prompt in the first place because I saw this gorgeous piece of art making its way around tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> [Doctor Doom x Iron Man](http://rdjlock.tumblr.com/post/154269133774/taste-you-doomtony-fanart-anad)
> 
>  
> 
> so, I really had to write a tribute to that... obviously, since this is for the Imagine Tony & Bucky blog, I couldn't let Victor win, but... wow, I ship it, just a little bit.


End file.
